


like honey to the throat

by guttersvoice



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Biting, Flashbacks, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, Trans Male Character, enemies to... something like lovers, vector being awful as ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10049315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guttersvoice/pseuds/guttersvoice
Summary: Not just for speaking and eating and smiling and lying and anything else you might expect when it comes to mouth use. Idly, barely aware of it, whenever his attention slips, he finds his mouth is - active, for lack of a better description. Pens seem to gravitate to the corner of his lips, chopsticks linger on his tongue. His fingernails and the skin surrounding them are chewed to shit.Vector has an oral fixation. Nasch seems to be the only one who notices.





	

It’s probably a little bit weird, considering that the form he would feel most comfortable in doesn’t have a mouth. Not that he can access that shape anymore, but that’s not the point. The point is - it’s probably weird that Vector uses his mouth so much now.

Not just for speaking and eating and smiling and lying and anything else you might expect when it comes to mouth use. Idly, barely aware of it, whenever his attention slips, he finds his mouth is - active, for lack of a better description. Pens seem to gravitate to the corner of his lips, chopsticks linger on his tongue. His fingernails and the skin surrounding them are chewed to shit.

It’s probably weird to absently shove your fingers into your mouth and catch them on tongue and teeth, even if you are used to having a mouth and not furious at the fleshy human vessel you’ve been forced into.

Probably, but Vector doesn’t even notice that he’s doing it for three weeks of attending school and sitting on the roof with the others during lunch. It’s almost been a month of having gotten back into some kind of human routine when he’s grabbed by the elbow on his way back to class and slammed into the wall.

He’s going to bruise, he thinks, before his eyes and brain click into cooperation.

Nasch - no, it’s Ryouga now, isn’t it? he manages to hold the sneer inside - has one forearm pushed against Vector’s throat, one hand still too-tight around his elbow.

For once, Vector isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve such rough treatment. Lately he’s been behaving himself, even when it comes to his least favourite purple shark-toothed asshole of an ex-king.

“Quit it,” Nasch hisses, and - oh - it is Nasch after all; that awful sharp heat in his eyes and something both rough and refined in his voice at the same time, somehow. Vector has to fight his grin at the realisation. He’d rather not get choked into unconsciousness in the middle of the school. “I don’t know what you think you’re achieving, but it’s not funny, so just - fucking drop it, alright?”

Even if Vector knew what the fuck Nasch was talking about, he might respond the same.

But as mocking as his tone and the slow, innocent blink of Rei’s big wet eyes might be, his words for once are honest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells Nasch. Sea-coloured eyes narrow cold and hot as if trying to figure him out, but when Vector bites his lip, they flick down to track the movement and can’t seem to pull away. Nasch’s nose wrinkles at the bridge the way it always does when he's conflicted, and Vector wants to break him apart so he can see his gears turning even more clearly. The way he's staring is something Vector isn't sure he's ever seen from this particular bastard before, and considering how long they've known each other, that's interesting if nothing else.

Usually at this point, Nasch would tell him again that he’s not funny, or that he’s the worst, or some other flat excuse for an insult, but instead his cheeks just flare darker. He lets go of Vector - a sweet relief, though he was right about the bruising - and slams his fist into the wall beside his head.

That close to his ear, it’s pretty loud, but Vector doesn’t flinch or blink.

It’s a matter of pride, but at the same time, a few things have clicked into place.

Ever-so-slowly, he slides his tongue over the spot where his canine has dug a little dent into his lip, and smiles.

Before he can say anything, Nasch has spun around and stormed off away from Vector, which means he’s won this round, and learned something that might be very useful in the near future.

-

Vector isn’t able to completely suppress his newly-discovered oral fixation, but that’s not so bad. If nothing else, it means that for now, at least, he can pass it off as unintentional and not even be lying about it. And no one seems to notice or question it, even when he’s in Ryouga’s presence and pushing the limits of what can be excused, tonguing the length of his pen or wrapping his lips around a popsicle until his whole mouth is poisonous blue or stoplight red or worst of all, purple and sticky and sweet. Sometimes he lets them drip and melt down his hand and too-slowly licks and sucks the juice clean from his palms and fingers

Best of all is that Ryouga can’t even say anything about it without embarrassing himself, so Vector gets away with it for a while.

As the season ends and the weather cools, he can’t come up with a good enough reason to keep buying popsicles, and hunting them out as fewer and fewer shops stock them is a pain. That’s not a problem - Ryouga’s been reacting less and less to his blatant fellating of brightly coloured, dripping sticks, anyway. It just means it’s time for a different approach to this new and fascinating form of torture.

So Vector takes up smoking. Not in front of Yuuma, of course, and not on school grounds, which means he has to spend more time with the other former Barians. It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make in exchange for watching Nasch tense and blush and lose track of a sentence while Vector blows smoke rings through his teeth and laughs.

Somewhere around this point, he realises that sometimes he’s laughing not out of malice, but because he enjoys the company. He never likes to think of anyone as being ‘like him’, but the other Barians are as close as anyone is going to get, and they’re familiar in a world that’ll never quite fit right. It takes less time than he thought it would to be able to say any of their names without that twinge of something that isn’t quite guilt and isn’t quite cruel victory but definitely has bits of both. Maybe it helps that he’s expected to say ‘Rio’ and ‘Ryouga’ instead of the names he associates more easily with them, or maybe it really does feel like he’s welcomed back into the fold and perhaps even almost forgiven.

By everyone except the ice queen, who he can never read anyway, and whose forgiveness he’d never accept, and of course, not by Shark, who teeters between human and something more, just like Vector, and whose disdain fuels him every day.

But it would feel wrong any other way, and he doesn’t want to get too comfortable even around people with such similar experiences. He can’t get complacent again.

What he can do is turn his smoke rings into wobbly hearts. It’s a snap of the fingers, so it draws attention. It’s just about the most obnoxious thing he can do right now, and Ryouga can’t stop watching him.

This is hilarious, of course.

-

Vector laughs and clicks his lighter, takes a long, slow drag on his cigarette and sticks his tongue out when Durbe scoffs in disgust. They’re outside, after all, and he plans to remain outside while the others go into - what kind of store was it again? He doesn’t really care, he’s just here to be as annoying as he possibly can. So he leans against the wall and wiggles his fingers in a wave as the rest of the Barians go shopping.

Most of the rest of the Barians.

He’s on his third inhale, enjoying the hot-dry sensation tugging at his trachea, when he gets grabbed again by the fluffy collar, and dragged round the corner so Nasch can slam him against the wall with absolutely no subtlety. The hands curled into fists catching jacket and t-shirt and undershirt lift him a little from the floor, so he’s forced to stand on his toes and look just slightly down to meet Nasch’s eyes.

His cigarette falls to the flagstones, barely halfway done with, but he smiles as Nasch crushes it with his heel. He still has lungs full of smoke to breathe right into that furious expression, and does so with the most hideous giggle he can summon. Keeping his lips pursed for a second too long and letting himself lick them after rewards Vector with that nose wrinkle again, and the new kind of look he’s only seen once before. He has a suspicion about what that look might mean. The heat in his cheeks and his eyes have certain implications, and if Vector is projecting them, it doesn’t say much good about his own tastes, but at least he’s aiming higher than Nasch seems to be.

Nasch, who is blatantly, obviously staring at Vector’s mouth, and who is -

Yes, thats a growl. He’s growling like Vector didn’t know a human throat could, like he hasn’t heard since they were shoved into these bodies, and that does something to him. He could name it if he wanted, but he’s not sure if he wants to.

He doesn’t have to. There are teeth, not his own, biting down hard on his lower lip. It’s hot, sharp pain, and it shouldn’t incite the reaction it gets from his body, but his arms shake a little, and heat rushes through him, and he can’t hold back the laughter.

Nasch is a pretty terrible kisser, if this is his attempt at a kiss, and it’s more than a little jarring to both have mouths to do this with, even.

But the strangeness is overridden by the sensation, and Vector at least knows what to do in these situations.

The teeth in Nasch’s human mouth are blunter and fewer than a shark’s, but they are still a Shark’s, and it feels dangerous to run his tongue over them, so Vector does it, pulling back until his head hits the wall when he gets snapped at for it. Biting isn’t really what most people would call kissing, but they aren’t exactly most people, and the slow blunting of the pain now that he’s been let go of shivers through him in a way he didn’t know a feeling could.

He laughs, again, and Nasch opens his mouth, presumably to speak, so Vector cuts him off before he can try, biting him back and then sucking at the teethmarks so he can hear Nasch whimper.

Nasch doesn’t whimper, of course. He’d be disappointed if he did.

Nasch shoves him again, harder, but moves with him, tipping his head in a way that Vector could only read as ‘yes, more please’.

Perhaps a more accurate translation would be ‘fuck you, you horrible little goblin, do that again and stop laughing into my mouth’, but he’s happy to assume that the more polite possibility is the correct option, and keep laughing anyway. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, really. The giggles keep shaking through his shoulders and out of his throat but they don’t stop either of them from continuing to kiss the other. Nor does the way their teeth clash when they both go to bite at once.

Vector pushes his hands up under Nasch’s shirt, meaning to grab him by the waist and pull their bodies together.

He’s promptly dropped, and the jarring pain shooting from his heels up his calves brings his attention to the taste of blood. It doesn’t matter whose, because he’s buzzing with adrenaline and arousal and he knows Nasch is too.

But Ryouga’s jaw is set and his shoulders have tensed up and forward, and Vector puts two and two together: the action that triggered the tension, and the peculiar slouch Shark sometimes affects, when he’s more Ryouga than Nasch.

He almost starts laughing again, because that’s another way the two of them are similar to add to the already disgustingly long list, but he holds his tongue from laughter or commenting on hands that might be shaking and makes no move to stop Ryouga from walking away.

Once he’s alone, he lets himself slump against the wall and grin far too wide and bite his lip where someone else’s teeth had just been.

There’s nothing compelling him to do anything with the information he’s gathered today. He’s free to do with it what he will. At this point in time, before any plans start vaguely forming, and before he makes any attempt to question his own reasons for wanting to do anything with what he’s learned, all Vector can do is mumble to himself.

“This is going to be fun.”

-

Making Nasch blush was fun.

“We should go to the beach,” Vector suggests on an afternoon that the Barians are gathered and bored. He runs the end of his pen over and over his bottom lip, then slowly, deliberately, catches it between his teeth before filling in the next answer to his crossword puzzle.

3 down: Momentum with direction and magnitude. (6)

Making Nasch’s shoulders tense in misplaced fear while still drawing enough attention to make him blush to the point it’s visible on his dark skin isn’t fun. It’s delicious, and addictive.

Vector isn’t sure if he could make himself stop if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to, so that doesn’t matter. He’s not tormenting Nasch in any dangerous ways - if anything, the only possible danger would be to himself.

Though he’d be lying if he didn’t welcome at least some of that danger.

Not that Nasch has made any approach since Vector tried to put his hands up his shirt.

Merag - Rio - whoever she is - shoots down the beach suggestion immediately. She uses some kind of excuse about the weather being too cold and wet now, but summer is only barely over and that badly-disguised glance at her brother makes it clear that’s not really why. That’s fine. It’s not like Vector actually wanted to go to the beach, although having far less shame than Nasch means he wouldn’t face the same level of crisis if they did go.

7 across: The leader of the daughters of the bier. (10)

He taps his pen against his mouth as he thinks, and sticks out his tongue a little to scratch letters into boxes. He doesn’t need to look at Nasch to know when he’s looking anymore.

The crossword is Durbe’s, but he likes everyone to have a go before he finishes it and the number puzzles off, and today it is Vector’s turn to start. Three down and seven across meet in the middle at their respective ‘T’’s, and maybe that means something, and maybe it doesn’t. Vector doesn’t really care. If his life is being guided by some unseen force, he’ll figure out what it is eventually. Then he can decide if he likes the guidance or not, and what to do with it if he doesn’t.

For now, he passes the newspaper to Nasch, and then the pen, which has spent the last ten minutes or so mostly in Vector’s mouth. Judging from his expression, he only seems to realise this once it’s in his hand.

Vector lets himself snort quietly at that, and Nasch glares in a way that might frighten anyone else, but the shiver it sends through Vector definitely isn’t fear. He wonders if today is the day he’s going to get shoved into a wall again.

It’s not, which is only disappointing.

-

After about two weeks, it’s clear Vector is going to have to do something more to get Nasch to react more like he had before.

It’s going to be difficult to get Nasch to trust him, of all people, but not impossible.

At least this time, his intentions aren’t trickery and murder, but -

But what? Mutual physical damage? Mutual physical pleasure? Both?

More than that, maybe, his mind suggests, traitor that it is even to itself. Vector is determined to ignore that, no matter how much more comfortable he is among the other Barians. No matter how much he thinks about one in particular when he isn’t in Vector’s direct line of sight, or worse, when he’s right there for Vector to - torment doesn’t feel like the right word anymore. Tease, perhaps.

There are benefits for both sides of the proposal he’s been drafting for the past few weeks. Honestly, Nasch might get more out of it than he does, at this point. He’s been working on his persuasion properly for the first time since their last Duel as Barians, and sometimes even he believes there’s no possible drawbacks.

There are plenty, of course, and he’s working on taking precautions for the ones he can avoid.

Some possibilities are just inevitable from his point of view. Others he tries not to think about. That won’t help, if they do start to happen, but thinking about it won’t do much good either, and might put him off entirely.

It’s a proposition to himself, too, in a way. He has to persuade himself to approach Nasch and reveal something no one but Vector himself knows.

And Yuuma, he remembers, eyebrows drawing together a little. That’s okay. He trusts Yuuma, despite everything he himself did to the boy. Yuuma might even approve of Vector’s current goals.

That thought alone sets Vector back another three days, worrying if perhaps his grip on himself has loosed again, if he’s aiming for something right and good, before he remembers that cold heat in Nasch’s eyes and the faded bruises on his own lips. There’s nothing pure or sweet or innocent about that, which is a relief.

The trick to getting a person to trust you is to reveal something about yourself that makes you, in their eyes at least, seem vulnerable.

The real trick is choosing something you don’t mind them knowing, but making it seem like you do.

So he keeps an eye on the weather report, and the next time it’s due to rain, Vector chooses his outfit carefully. The white shirt doesn’t really suit him, but that’s not the point. He sprawls out on the grass in the Kamishiro’s garden and watches Gilag and Alit spar, neither ever landing a serious hit on the other. Durbe and Rio call out points, and Nasch -

Rather than paying attention to the wrestling, or boxing, or whatever it is the others are occupied with, Nasch is watching Vector bite into a plum.

He bought the punnet on his way here; they’re fresh, and sweet, and when his teeth break the flushed purple skin, sweet juice drips down his chin and fingers. He laps it up greedily, keeps his eyes fixed on the fight and knowing that Nasch can’t look away from his mouth. Knowing he has this much power over someone in such a simple way is as delicious as the fruit, but that’s not the point.

The plums are just to get his attention.

Vector throws the stone into a neglected flowerbed and licks his palm. He’s sticky, and it takes a while to clean himself up, and while he tries, some drips on his shirt. This is intentional, of course, but it doesn’t look like it. He pretends not to notice.

There’s a quiet cough from beside him, and it turns out Nasch is sat a little closer than he’d thought. Perhaps it’s working better than he’d thought.

Vector holds out the open plastic carton.

“Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,” he half-sings, and Nasch frowns. He’s never been one for such frivolous things as poetry, Vector supposes. One of many things to hate. “You want one?” he asks, more bluntly, and the frown deepens as Vector’s grin widens, but he takes one of the offered fruits.

“You dripped on your shirt,” Nasch points out finally, and Vector does an excellent job of acting surprised and dismayed.

“Oh, that - that’s going to stain, huh?”

It’s not even his shirt. He doesn’t give a shit.

“Just stick it in the machine here,” Nasch suggests, as anticipated.

He hesitates. The hesitation is important - he breaks eye contact for just an instant.

“Nah, who cares. Just a fuckin shirt, right? I can sort it when I go home.”

That has Nasch’s attention. Now, why on Earth would Vector be so reluctant to remove his shirt?

So he’s hooked, and now all that’s needed is for the weather to let Vector reel him in. But there’s no rush to get to that. The stormclouds have only just begun to gather at the corners of the sky, and Vector has another plum to eat, after all.

He watches Nasch attempt to take his first bite delicately, and laughs when it spurts across Nasch’s face.

Part of him, unplanned, unpredicted, wants to lick sticky plum-juice off that indignant expression, but he knows that doing something like that in front of anyone else would ruin any chances of things moving forwards, so he reins that part of himself in as best he can. There’ll be other chances for that sort of thing. For now, all he has to do is laugh when Nasch returns the plum to the punnet in disgust and wipes his face. For now, all he has to do is take the half-bitten reject and match his teeth up to where Nasch’s were, and not break eye contact as it drips down his chin and onto the thin white fabric covering his chest.

Nasch visibly swallows, and this might be the best blush Vector has ever forced onto his face.

And as if on cue, the heavens open.

If he’d been paying more attention, he might have noticed the first few drops. As it is, Gilag’s shriek hits at the moment the storm does.

The six of them rush inside but it doesn’t stop the rain from soaking them all almost immediately. It’s a big garden, and the rain is heavy.

Durbe runs to get towels from the linen closet; Gilag and Alit immediately peel their wet shirts from their bodies, and Vector lingers in the doorway, his back turned to the others. Arguably, from anyone else’s perspective, he could be watching the rain.

He’s waiting.

When the voices retreat out of the hall and into - the kitchen, or the lounge, or wherever - he turns around, and sure enough, Nasch is stood in the opposite doorway, holding two towels and staring at him with something different in his eyes, now. A bit more understanding, maybe.

Vector sets his jaw and grabs the towel offered to him, and glares at Nasch in the way he knows Nasch would expect to be glared at. The way Ryouga would glare if his shirt had gone transparent over a black binder.

“So,” Vector begins, fully expecting to be interrupted and leaving the space for it.

“I can lend you a shirt,” Nasch says, sounding like Ryouga. “And - anything else you need.”

He can’t even say it, and Vector doesn’t mind letting himself think that that’s cute.

So he’s led up to Ryouga Kamishiro’s bedroom. Predictable: the purple walls, the framed photos on the wall beside the bed, the empty space where a mirror might have been, once. The bass propped up against the corner surprises Vector, but only because he’d forgotten to pay attention to the boy called Shark while he was a boy calling himself Shingetsu. More unexpected than that is the mess. It’s not uninhabitable, but the bed is unmade and there are clothes strewn across the back of a chair, half-finished homework on a disorganised desk. Laundry in a pile next to the door.

It’s nice to see that Nasch has ordinary flaws like anyone else, but Vector doesn’t say that aloud. He just hugs the now-damp towel to his chest and lets Rei’s mindset stain his cheeks pink as he closes the door behind him.

“Um.”

Nasch has already gone into one of his drawers and realised his mistake.

“Yeah, I can’t borrow one of your binders, it’d be way too big for me,” Vector agrees, dropping the towel onto Nasch’s laundry pile and starting to unbutton his wet shirt. One button is all it takes to make Nasch look away, and even from this angle Vector can see that he’s blushing. He laughs. “Are you embarrassed? Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

Nasch makes a little noise that could be him scoffing at Vector, or could be a laugh. It’s difficult to tell.

“I thought if I gave you some privacy you might be polite enough to look away when I also have to change out of my wet clothes.” His response is smooth and calm, but there's an edge to it, and there’s something about his tone that feels familiar.

“Like I’ve ever been polite to you in my life,” replies Vector, cracking a grin, and - oh, that’s what it is. It’s how they talk when they’re dueling. Familiar - a good move on Nasch’s part. The air between them feels more at ease already. “Anyway, I don’t care if you look at me or not, and maybe I’d like to gawk at your ass enough that ‘politeness’-” - he holds up his fingers to make mocking quotes, lets his unbuttoned shirt fall open - “isn’t about to stop me.”

That’s rude enough that Nasch turns around and actually looks at him. Vector steps closer and smiles up through still-damp hair.

“Or you could just kick me out once I’m all cosy and dressed in your dry clothes,” he suggests, and Nasch frowns in a way that suggests he hadn’t even thought of that. “Speaking of which - I’ll be fine in a t-shirt and something heavy, like a sweater, or a hoodie. I’m not--” Actual hesitation here, actually; he’s not sure how to phrase this. He’s never had to describe his body like this before. The most vulgar option, then. Keep Nasch on his toes. “My tits aren’t that big, so I’ll be fine with a couple of too big layers.”

To his credit, Nasch doesn’t even falter. He rolls his eyes and turns to open a drawer full of t-shirts: Vector takes the opportunity to let his shirt drop to the floor. Nasch holds out something grey with dark pink trim - he knows Vector’s tastes, or maybe he just doesn’t wear this one very often because of the colour association. Either way, it makes Vector’s smile widen as he pulls open the fastening of his binder. The velcro noise makes Nasch twitch a little, and he’s still not looking.

“I don’t care if you look, Nasch,” he points out again, tugging the restrictive, damp underwear off over his shoulders. “We’re the same, right?”

It’s not that last part that does it, he realises a moment later. It’s that he called him by a name everyone else steps around. Maybe he’d’ve gotten what he wants ages ago if he’d thought of that, but he doesn’t regret the buildup at all.

Nasch is staring at his face, not his body.

It’s not a frown or a smile, and he doesn’t seem confused. More like he’s reassessing Vector a little, which he can’t deny might be a little intimidating.

The t-shirt swamps him a little. It’s not what he’s used to, but the change isn’t unwelcome. Nasch stays quiet till he’s got it all the way on.

“We are, yeah,” he says, and his voice is lower and quieter and Vector actually finds that alone has his attention entirely. “The same, I mean. In lots of ways.”

Vector doesn’t hold his breath. His heartbeat doesn’t speed up or anything. He just lets himself meet Nasch’s eyes, and stays silent. He’d anticipated this, but before the moment came he’d thought it would be a move towards getting what he wants. Now it feels like there’s something important happening, and he can’t tell if that’s because Nasch just has that air about him, or because he actually wants to know what Nasch has to say, and how he feels.

“I don’t like you, Vector.” The clarification is gratifying. It would be unbearable if Nasch actually liked him. “But we’ve got a lot more in common than - than any of the others.” The hesitation was for his sister, and Vector knows that, and manages to hold his tongue and not grin just because he knows something. “And I know you’re not stupid enough to betray us again. I also know that you let me see this--” he gestures, and Vector’s assessment of his intelligence goes up another notch. “Because you wanted me to trust you, but you know, maybe telling me how much you don’t care isn’t the best way to make it seem like a secret you particularly want to stay kept.”

The last sentence brings a slow smile to Vector’s face. It’s not a threat, which comes as a bit of a surprise. Nasch is simply demonstrating that he understands Vector, and at least some of his aims.

“You should get out of those wet clothes, Nasch,” he says, and enjoys the sweet touch of victory when saying his name makes Nasch’s mouth twitch. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, after all.”

“Then you should step away from me.” It’s impossible to tell if that slight baring of teeth is that growl rising up again, or a suppressed smile. Vector finds he’s happy with either possibility. “Go sit on my bed, or poke through my desk until you realise I don’t keep a diary, or something.”

He sounds irritated, but that’s not a bad thing. The last two times Vector really got on Nasch’s nerves had pretty good results, after all.

So it’s time to get worse, then.

Vector steps away and turns around, and without waiting, unbuttons and unzips his jeans, and starts sliding them down his hips.

“What are you doing.”

It’s hardly a question, more an expression of disbelief. Vector steps out of the jeans and holds them up as he turns back to Nasch with a grin.

“These were wet too,” he points out.

Nasch has his t-shirt off, and it’s been a long while since Vector’s seen this much of him, if he ever has. Maybe before their first deaths. Either way, it’s a nice view, and even if Vector hadn’t intended to let his gaze linger on broad shoulders and toned stomach, he probably would be anyway.

Even his binder is embellished with gold trim, and a dark red rhombus where his core once shone. Vector would make fun of him, but - he gets it. It’s not like they have any right to wish for those shapes. Even he doesn’t feel right about complaining to anyone else about missing his claws, and his wings, and his crystal heart. It’s reassuring to know that someone else has to hide those feelings.

Nasch opens his mouth, as if to speak.

“Do you wanna make out?”

The words fall out of Vector almost by themselves. It’s skipping several steps, but right now it just feels ridiculous to keep this up. They both know one of them is going to initiate eventually, so what’s the point of tiptoeing around it at this point?

Nasch’s mouth flops like a fish, but his eyes are locked onto Vector’s mouth, so he pushes forward before he can lose momentum. It’s not a practiced speech, but he’s thought about it a lot, and he wants to get as much of it out as possible.

“We both want to, right? It was good before, and now you’ve got nothing to hide, so we might as well,” he reasons aloud. Nasch might not be listening properly, from that slack-jawed expression, but that doesn’t matter. Vector drops his jeans on the floor and sits on the edge of Nasch’s bed, stretching out his bare legs in front of him and wriggling his toes in his socks. “I don’t like you, but you don’t have to like someone to engage in physical activity. Actually, it’s ideal for me, since it probably wouldn’t be good for anyone to fall in love with me. You’re attractive enough, and I know you want me, even if you’re not too happy about that-”

Nasch snorts. He is paying attention after all.

“Yeah, okay,” he admits. Or agrees, perhaps, Vector realises, because he’s walked across the room to stand between Vector’s legs, and he’s bending down, and he’s grabbed Vector by the chin.

“This isn’t exactly an optimal position,” he points out.

“You wussing out?” Nasch asks, and shoves his mouth against Vector’s.

He tastes like plums and rain.

Vector grabs at him - shoulder, waist - and pulls, and falls backward. The kiss breaks, but no one is leaning at an uncomfortable angle anymore. Nasch is just sprawled on top of him, damp hair hitting Vector in the face. He’s returning Vector’s grin, and where their chests are crushed together by gravity, he can feel Nasch’s heartbeat pounding hard and fast. Maybe it’s the rush of being pulled down, but Vector doesn’t think so.

He slides one hand to the back of Nasch’s neck and guides their mouths back together. they’re not gentle with one another, and he’s grateful for it. Nasch is teeth and tongue and that low rumble in his chest whenever Vector digs his nails in. From an objective standpoint, it’s not a good kiss; they’re in an uncomfortable position, and there’s far too much tooth involved, and they’re both still rain-damp. But Vector’s body runs hot with shaking want and Nasch makes low, desperate sounds, and his hand is warm against Vector’s jaw.

Warmer tightening against Vector’s throat. Cutting off the air to his feeble human lungs - it’s clever, a reminder of what they both are now and a display of superiority and strength. Vector chokes, and his air comes back, and he’s grinning wider than ever and the laughter keeps spilling out of him across Nasch’s lips.

“You’re so fucked up, you know,” Nasch mumbles against him, but he’s panting and flushed and his eyes are so dark.

“Like you’re not enjoying that as much as I did.”

Nasch growls, and Vector shivers and tears red stripes along his back and spreads his legs a little wider.

“That hurts,” Nasch tells him, and he’s about to point out that he can’t complain right after strangling him a little, but then they’re kissing again so it doesn’t matter. The wet heat of these bodies isn’t new to either of them, they’ve been in them long enough, but kissing like this - rough and raw and still furious at each other for so much - is something neither of them has had before, and Nasch seems as determined to explore this as Vector is.

He’s trying to make better use of his tongue, so Vector catches it between his teeth and laughs; Nasch gropes roughly at his chest and he lets go. To moan, not to yelp in surprise.

He arches into Nasch’s touch. No one has done that before, or at least, not like that, with warm, indelicate hands, and it feels more than that, sends a violent shudder through him that twitches his hips up against -

\- against nothing, actually, because Nasch has rolled halfway off him and his expression has closed off again. Typical. They were just getting into it, and Vector’s enthusiasm has scared him off again.

“Was it the biting, or the fact that I was enjoying myself?” It’s a reasonable question. Nasch rolls his eyes.

“Just remembered there’s people expecting us back probably a while ago.”

“Oh, right,” Vector lets the grin slide back into place and props himself up on his elbows. “Can’t have them knowing about this shameful dalliance.”

“That’s not--” Nasch protests, and Vector laughs.

“I meant shameful to me, but sure, I guess it runs both ways.” Nasch snorts at that. Maybe they’re getting along. Vector discards the possibility and presses on instead: he wants some way to prove to himself afterwards that this wasn’t just some sort of fever dream, and he’s going to at least try to get it. “Gimme a hickey before we go down?”

That throws him; Vector snickers at the almost scandalised expression he’s managed to tease out of Nasch, and before he can argue, pulls up his borrowed t-shirt to expose his chest.

“Somewhere they won’t see, maybe,” he suggests, and Nasch’s face twists through a number of possible emotions before landing on something Vector might label as hunger. It’s that implacable something that set Vector on this path in the first place, and now he’s almost able to cause it at will. The idea of having that much power, over this person of all people, makes him shiver. He doesn’t even want to use it for evil - at least, not too much evil. Just for his own personal gain in private situations.

Nasch licks his lips and Vector tenses involuntarily.

He refuses to doubt himself - he can’t change what’s already happened and been said, and he knows that he wants what he’s asked for. But the reality of the fact that he just asked Nasch, the man who earned a hundred million points from him, whose superiority he has always resented, to bite him - to mark him - is setting in. And somehow, he’s totally comfortable with this. That’s what’s unnerving: that he’s fine, and that he wants this, and that it isn’t as self-destructive and bitter as maybe it should be.

Vector is just having fun, and - Nasch buries his teeth into the soft flesh directly below Vector’s collarbone, and he has to bite down on his own wrist to keep himself quiet. The pain is hot and sweet as Nasch’s mouth. Knocks the breath out of him; shoots white spots through his vision.

When Nasch pulls away, the purple mark is spotted with violent red, and Vector can’t help but giggle.

“Looks like us,” he explains to the raised eyebrow Nasch gives him, and lets the borrowed t-shirt fall to cover him back up.

“That’s ridiculous,” Nasch tells him, and he grins, and gets a smack round the head as gentle as Yuuma would get for being cute.

That’s a little worrying, but Vector doesn’t mind it right now.

Some pyjama pants and a hoodie - both purple, the hoodie predictably trimmed in sea green - are thrown directly at this face, and he laughs.

“My place next time, so we can have all the time we need,” he suggests, and while he only gets a grunt in response as Nasch wriggles into a clean, dry shirt, it definitely feels like agreement.

-

Vector’s next few days are spent occasionally prodding the bruise on his chest and hissing in delight at how tender it is.

He does other things, too, but everything else sort of pales in comparison to that giddy feeling when he thinks about a heavy hand closing around his throat and skin tearing under his fingernails. It’d be embarrassing if anyone knew, but people are used to him smiling without obvious reason, and it’s not like Nasch is going to admit to anyone that they’d kissed. So he’s safe to daydream about teeth as much as he likes. Not like he pays that much attention to everyone else anyway, when he’s out with all of Yuuma’s group. All he has to do is throw out a backhanded compliment or some relevant sarcasm every now and then, and it’s business as usual.

Almost usual: he does get a worried look from Yuuma, who then offers to buy his coffee for him when he zones out at the cafe counter, but Yuuma knows better than to ask Vector what’s wrong in front of everyone, at least.

Vector watches Kotori and Cathy bicker over which piece of cake each of them is getting, and wonders why he keeps getting invited out with this group.

Well, he knows why, really.

He wishes Yuuma wouldn’t pity him, but he knows Yuuma doesn’t think of it as pity. Maybe he should feel bad for not liking these people as much as Yuuma does, but he’s not about to put in any extra effort to get to know them just because he’s stuck here like this.

He could be more honest with himself about why he’s not trying, but he doesn’t want to waste time on that much introspection when he could be thinking about the taste of a furious king pinning him in place.

His d-gazer chirps in his pocket, and he wiggles it free, ready to dismiss a spam message. Yuuma’s the only one who has his ID code, after all. But the text on the red-tinted display isn’t offering him comedically luxurious items for free, or money for dubious acts.

> Did you suggest your place because you knew I don’t know where the hell you live?
> 
> 16:55

The uncomfortable mixture of outrage and amusement must have shown on his face: that guilty half-laugh definitely came from Yuuma.

“He asked for your code two days ago,” he mutters beside Vector’s ear, pretending to reach across the table for a packet of sugar. “Did he really take that long to message you? Guess he’s shy when he likes someone, huh?”

Vector chokes on the laugh. Yuuma’s naivete is as charming as ever; as if ‘like’ was involved here at all. He won’t crush that belief, though. The idea of romance might be all that’s keeping Yuuma quiet about this, especially if he’s come to that conclusion himself. Certainly he can’t imagine Nasch actually telling Yuuma his reasons for needing Vector’s code.

Yuuma’s laughing too, though.

Oh, maybe he was just joking. That makes more sense, actually.

Vector finishes off his syrup-laden coffee and sinks back into the too-soft sofa he and three of Yuuma’s friends are sharing to text back.

> oops, i did just forget ｡(≧ڡ≦*)ゞ ill send u a map to shingetsus apt but im out w the #s club rn so u cant just show up at the door, kay? unless u wanna stand in the cold til i get home wwwwwww
> 
> (ﾉ◕ω◕)◜✧˖° ベクター
> 
> 17:01

He gets a response before he’s done sending the location across.

> You’re the worst person I know.
> 
> 17.02

 

> u fuckin know it babe ♡*:･。.⌒ヽ(｀ ε ´ ) ベクター
> 
> 17.04

If nothing else, Vector is determined to continue to irritate Nasch as much as he possibly can. And everyone else, for that matter. Can’t have them getting complacent and thinking they can relax around him. To prove the point to himself, he leans across the table and plucks the strawberry the girls have been arguing over off the cake, devouring it in one bite.

“There, now there’s no problem, right?”

They yell at him, and he laughs, and everyone else does too. He doesn’t mind that. It’s familiar, if not as comfortable as the other group of people he spends time with. Settling back into his seat, he gets back to his d-gazer, adding Nasch to his now-doubled list of contacts and composing another message. Just to rile Nasch up a little more.

> the kiss you left me is still tender btw
> 
> turning yellow and green + right on the edge of my binder so i cant forget its there
> 
> pretty hot tbh
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 17:10

That should do it. Tucking his d-gazer into his jacket pocket, for easier access, he returns his attention to the ordinary everyday conversation around him. He’s just in time for discussing the future - apparently figuring out career paths and goals is important to these people.

Vector doesn’t really care about that. He can duel for money if he needs to; he already knows plenty of places he can go with nice high stakes. He has an apartment still under Shingetsu Rei’s name, and he’s charmed the old lady who runs the nearest corner shop to give him discounts on cigarettes. What else does he need? Certainly events of the past have stubbed out most of his desire for power on a large scale. He never really wanted much else - not after his memories were altered, at least. World peace seems like a ridiculous goal for one person to aim for, now, but his own life is pretty peaceful overall.

His d-gazer buzzes and makes noise, reminding him of the other thing he wants.

A little spice. Some excitement to stave off the endless boredom that comes with humanity.

“Going for a smoke.” He stands abruptly, and steps over Tetsuo and Todoroki’s knees to escape the corner of this tiny cafe, waving an absent goodbye in Yuuma’s general direction.

He lights his cigarette before he pulls out the d-gazer.

> You wouldn't even care if someone was in the same room as me while you're sending messages like that, would you? I'm sure you're laughing right now. I'd like to smash that fucking grin of yours into the ground.
> 
> I bet you’d like that.
> 
> 17:14

Nasch isn't wrong. Vector changes his plans immediately: instead of standing outside the cafe and waiting, he starts walking in the direction of Shingetsu's apartment, sending Yuuma a quick message to let him know he had something to do. The others could go rot for all he cared, but he'd rather Yuuma not assume he wandered off because he didn't care, or something.

> well id like to see u try at least wwwwwwww
> 
> anything you wanna do to me besides that? or do you just wanna rub my face in the ground while i rub my ass against ur crotch and tell u i want more than ur giving me
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 17:25

He bites his lip as he sends the response. It's only partially a joke: if Nasch did something like that, at this point, he might actually react exactly as he described. It’s kind of funny how desperate he is right now, and more than a little embarrassing that so much of that desperation is aimed at Nasch. At least he has a decent set of reasons for picking him, of all people, he reminds himself, throwing his cigarette stub at a trashbot. It squawks and yells at him, but it’s even more comfortable with garbage than Vector is, so he doesn’t even break his stride.

> I’ve been thinking about the face you made when I choked you.
> 
> 17:27

Vector grinds his teeth.

How can one sentence from someone so infuriating run his blood hot and fog up his brain with a feeling like bubbles in lemonade and red light refracted and reflected a thousand times inside of him? How can he be so okay with the reactions his sticky human body has to the person he’s always hated most?

It’s irritating, and worse: he’s not stopping or slowing down one bit. The irritation is familiar in a way the rest of the world - his own body - isn’t, and he can’t understand it but there’s something safe and right about it.

His thumbs tap out a response for him.

> 100,000,001 points
> 
> gonna bite u so hard u bleed when i see u next
> 
> ill take chunks out of u if i can ( ˘ ³˘)♥
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 17:32

His d-gazer beeps in his hand as he passes through the monorail doors, a reminder to top up his travel credit soon. Like he could be kept from going where he wants by someone with a badge and a flashlight, or a robot with a duel disk. Heartland is ridiculously easy to live in with the right deck and a bit of nerve.

The city passes under him in technicolour and he daydreams about crushing it, but with half of his old ambition halved again through distraction.

He’d be lying if he said Nasch has never distracted him before. If he explored his memories more carefully, maybe he’d learn something about his own motivations, but that’s all long past. There’s no point dwelling on things no one can change.

Well, maybe one person could have changed pretty much anything it wanted, but that’s none of Vector’s business. He should be grateful for what he has.

> That’s not good motivation for me to come to yours. You know that, right?
> 
> I’d say I’d wait till you’re less of an asshole but that’s never happening, so maybe tonight I’ll just do what I can to persuade you to keep me in one piece, with all my chunks where they belong, and see if I can find your apartment tomorrow.
> 
> I was busy tonight anyway. Wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion by changing my plans suddenly.
> 
> 17:41

“Are you fucking kidding?” Vector hisses, and earns a quiet gasp from a middle-aged woman and wide-eyed admiration from her daughter. He grins toothily at both, and goes back to glaring at his d-gazer.

He’s halfway through typing out something about some chunks he’s sure Nasch wouldn’t miss too bad when another message arrives.

This one’s just a picture.

Nasch’s face isn’t included, but it’s obviously enough him. Not that Vector would recognise his stomach out of a lineup, but the gold trim of his binder isn’t quite cropped out of the top, and the - unfastened, hanging free - belt buckle is the same not-quite-ouroborus as ever.

Plus the waistband of his underwear says ‘bite me’, which, while a little contradictory to his previous message, is very Shark. And Nasch is still Shark, after all, and Vector knows that, even if he doesn’t completely understand it.

Nasch’s fingers are dipping below the waistband of his jeans. Still over the underwear, sure, but in a way that can’t be mistaken for anything but suggestive.

This is perhaps what he meant by persuading Vector to keep him in one piece.

Vector’s face is warm. Part of him is intensely aware that photos like this tend to be followed by more photos with escalating levels of indecency. He hadn’t thought Nasch was the type. But then, he’s only recently learned that Nasch could be attracted to him, and that had seemed unlikely before, too. And hasn’t he established himself as someone Nasch can trust at least with knowledge of his body? Reminding himself of that doesn’t stop the flush from spreading to his ears.

His face probably clashes with his hair right now. That’s fine, though, because at least his hands are steady while he deletes his half-constructed message and gets to work on a more positive response.

> u think a photo of ur abs is enough to win my favour? p(￣^￣)q
> 
> ull have to do better than that after telling me ur not actually comin mine
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 17:52

 

> You might get more if you respond in kind. If I’m sending something that could be used against me I’d like some ammunition of my own.
> 
> 17:55

Vector hasn’t wanted to casually destroy something in a long while. It’s only fitting that it’s Nasch bringing those feelings back, he supposes, but the thought isn’t exactly comforting.

> uuuuugh im on the train you dick ヽ(๑•̀ㅁ•́๑)ﾉ
> 
> not even one more? ill make up for it when im home
> 
> 17:57

 

> Oh, I thought you were getting coffee with the Numbers Club. Did you skip out on them because you thought you might get to fuck me? You’re pretty desperate, huh?
> 
> 17:58

It isn’t the first time Vector has wanted to break his d-gazer, or Nasch’s face. Once again, he reins himself in with admirable levels of self-control, and resigns himself to walking extra fast once he’s off the monorail.

-

Shingetsu’s apartment, as much as it will always be called that in his head, is a sanctuary, of sorts, for Vector. Sure, it’s no labyrinth of torture, but it’s home now, and no one else knows where it is. Well. One person now.

Maybe he should regret that.

He can always move, if Nasch becomes too much of a problem.

Anyone else might be nervous about inviting a guy who's lived in mansions, fortresses, great crystal palaces, to their shitty little apartment. Vector has no reason to feel ashamed of his living situation. He likes the space he has. He likes that he has to pull his futon out of the cupboard every night, instead of a Western-style bed taking up half the room. He likes the compact kitchen, and the bath he can sit and soak in for hours after washing, until his fingertips shrivel in the water.

He can’t remember how to live without his kotatsu, if he’s honest, but he’s pretty sure the Kamishiros must have one somewhere in that ridiculous building they live in, so that’s not particularly unique to his place. It’s just nice.

Vector’s not sure when he started thinking of actually nice things as nice. Worse: he has no inclination to fight the thoughts.

-

He doesn’t message Nasch back until he’s sprawled out half-nude on his futon.

The photo’s a little blurred, but it’s his fifth attempt to get it right, so it’ll just have to do. The important things are visible: the yellow-green fading hickey just below his collarbone, his lips parted and pressed against the tip of the vibrator. It’s hard to see how the vibe glistens with saliva, and you can see a little of his eyes and the hint of the curve of his chest, instead of cutting both out, but it should do the job, at least.

He sends it without comment, and waits. Or, doesn’t completely wait, because wet as the toy is, getting it wetter is never a bad idea. And hey, if he enjoys pushing it as far into his mouth as he can stand, feeling it press against the entrance to his throat - no further, because its wide and solid, with no give, and he has some sort of sense of self-preservation - who can blame him?

His d-gazer vibrates beside him.

> Purple, huh?
> 
> 18:46

Shit. Vector hadn’t even considered that, but the toy currently rubbing against the flat of his tongue is purple, a deep, rich colour, and while it hadn’t been his intention, he probably had made the choice due to subconscious association. It’s possible he bought it in the first place for that reason. That’s embarrassing, but he’s not about to let on if he can avoid it.

Thought you’d like it.

No, that’s no good. Sounds like he chose it for Nasch’s enjoyment rather than his own. He deletes it and tries again.

Wouldn’t want you to feel too left out.

That’s just as bad. Vector discards it, and actually stops to think about what he’s saying.

He doesn’t get the chance to actually send anything - another message comes through before he can type another letter.

This photo is blurry, clearly taken in a hurry to do so without anyone noticing, but Vector recognises at least the colour schemes Merag and Durbe tend towards, stood to the side of the dark purple smear that’s probably Nasch.

> With people.
> 
> Send one where it’s in your mouth. I’ll make it up to you later if you do a good enough job.
> 
> 18:49

Which means he’s not going to get to see much more of Nasch for a while. He’d be bitter, if he wasn’t relieved that he didn’t have to explain his colour choices. A rebellious part of him considers making Nasch wait until he can reciprocate properly, just as he’d made Vector wait, but it already took him a good ten minutes to get worked up enough to be comfortable taking a photo of himself, and waiting would mean letting himself submit to Nasch’s schedule. No, he’s doing this now, and then maybe again later, depending on how good the pictures he gets in return are.

The vibrator is decidedly not shaped like a human dick. Well, it is in some ways - the general curve, the length and girth are certainly reminiscent of human genitalia, but it’s smooth, with none of the intimate details of some of the options Vector had considered and promptly rejected when he’d bought it. Instead, there are ridges and bumps along the underside, and the end twists to turn it on. It’s pretty powerful, more of a rumble than a buzz, which is a bonus. Also, it’s purple, a fact he’s trying very hard to regret.

It’s difficult to regret as it bumps against his palate and stretches his lips wide.

He takes five photos, and hates all of them. That’s fine: his own appearance is still jarring, but anyone would feel the same after thousands of years as an extradimensional demigod made of stone and light.

Sitting up makes him feel a bit sillier with the vibe in his mouth, but his hair falls over more of his face, which helps. The most acceptable photo he takes gets sent without a caption.

After getting comfy lying down again, he sends a follow-up.

> ur focus on my mouth is p cute tbh
> 
> id eat u out given the chance u know
> 
> but uve gotta bite me plenty in return
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 18:57

Is that too needy? He doesn’t care, he wants to feel Nasch’s teeth and he’s not afraid to ask for it.

Apparently, Nasch is on high alert, because he gets a response immediately.

> That’s almost all the way in, do you not have a gag reflex? Or just lots of practice?
> 
> You’ll have to work a bit harder to get the right to do something like that, but you might be good enough as you are to suck my dick.
> 
> 18:59

Which implies Nasch owns some sort of strap-on, which, if he’s honest, might be one of the hottest things Vector has ever imagined.

Okay, maybe not quite as good as that one fantasy about sitting on Don Thousand’s face, but he’s never going to admit that one to anyone, ever.

> its not a matter of good ‘enough’ we both know full well u want me wwwww
> 
> but yeah im just real good at suckin dick
> 
> maybe ull get to find out how good
> 
> well see...anything else u wanna demand from me u filthy boy? ur sat at a table w ur sis and dorbz right? what if they saw u were sexting? Σ(･o･;)
> 
> ベクター
> 
> 19:02

Even as he sends it, his free hand is playing with his chest. Two fingers jab into the yellowing bruise at his collar, and he bites his lip in delight. The vibrator rests between his tits, off, for now, saliva already drying against his skin. It’d be gross, if he cared about where his own spit went, but he doesn’t, and anyway he’s planning to get grosser soon enough.

He circles one nipple with the pad of his thumb, keeping an eye on his d-gazer. It doesn’t buzz, and over the course of the next several minutes his movements grow idle, and his hand comes to rest on his stomach out of boredom more than anything else.

After two hours of waiting and idly playing an ugly little Kuriboh-themed match-3 game on his d-gazer, Vector’s enthusiasm has dampened considerably. And he’s getting cold without a shirt on. And the blanket’s right there.

Through his window the sky is darkening.

“Whatever,” he mumbles to himself, because he shouldn’t really give a shit if someone’s too busy for him, and that goes double for Nasch. He doesn’t even like the guy, it’s just a physical thing that happens to be convenient for both of them.

So it’s ridiculous for him to feel like he’s been stood up.

Even so, he’s still pouting as he pulls his blanket onto his shoulders like a cape so he can turn off the lights and brush his teeth before he curls up and try his very best to pass out during the night like an ordinary human is supposed to.

He’s got his toothbrush in his mouth and is trying to fix the mess his hair has become when someone knocks on the door. So when he opens it, it’s with a mouth full of toothpaste and spit and plastic, and fuck knows what his hair’s doing. In a word, dishevelled and taken off-guard, with a blanket cape the only thing covering him up at all.

Nasch almost starts to laugh, and then realises how naked Vector is. His mouth hangs open, flush painting across his cheeks, and he can’t meet Vector’s eyes all of a sudden.

Somehow, being surprised has actually won this round for Vector. The grin that spreads across his face matches Nasch’s blush in intensity, and he steps backwards to let him in even as he feels toothpaste drool out of the corner of his mouth. It’s fine, because not only has Nasch proven himself unable to resist leaving his sister and his right-hand man in favour of arguably his most hated enemy, Vector has taken complete control of the situation simply by being too lazy to put on pants.

He spits out toothpaste into his sink and takes his time rinsing out his mouth while Nasch hovers in the bathroom doorway.

Let him feel awkward. He could at least have let Vector know he was on his way, or continued to encourage him if nothing else. As is, he deserves to be stood looking at everything in the apartment but Vector’s legs.

“Make yourself at home,” Vector suggests, making sure the blanket brushes against Nasch’s hip as he passes. “I’ll put some underwear on, shall I?”

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet, and Nasch almost looks surprised to hear it come out of his own mouth, but it’s too late now; they both heard it.

Vector turns to him and lets his face stretch into the most ghoulish grin he can manage as he steps closer, getting right up in Nasch’s personal space.

The blanket shifts off his shoulder, just a little.

“I’ll be cold if I just stand around naked, though, don’t you think?” he asks. Another step, and their chests are almost touching. He lets his thigh press against Nasch’s, subtle and gentle. “And shouldn’t I be decent to entertain a guest?”

Nasch swallows visibly, and his jaw sets stubborn to match his frown.

“You’re never decent,” he points out, and leans down a little. Just barely in kissing range, and he grabs the back of Vector’s hair with a startling roughness, so he can’t close that gap. He practically purrs at the pain, though, leering up and shrugging the blanket off his shoulders, letting it pool around his feet. Nasch doesn’t falter, though, just brings his other hand up to grab Vector’s jaw, thumb resting on his lower lip. Just being silently stared at doesn’t suit Vector, though; he darts out his tongue to lap at the pad of that thumb, and then wraps his lips around it, teeth grazing flesh not-too-gently.

That gets him a response: Nasch makes a noise that Vector might almost call a growl, and yanks at his hair before shoving their mouths together.

It’s brief, and there’s no art to it, but it’s like the first breath of fresh air after too long.

Better: when Nasch pulls away, it’s to speak.

“I hate you,” he says, and with the look in his eyes, Vector really believes it. It’s perfect.

“Then why are you here?”

Like he doesn’t know. Like he’s not just asking to hear Nasch’s voice grate low with something hot and needy.

“Because I want you,” he confirms, and the grin is twitching at the corners of Vector’s mouth, it’s stretched so wide. “You’re the worst, and I hate you, but I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

Vector laughs, harsh noise right in Nasch’s face.

Nasch kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue pushing into Vectors grin and softening it. A hand rests loosely on his bare hip, almost hesitant, but the one in his hair is still tight, so Vector doesn’t worry. Just curls insistent fingers into the front of Nasch’s shirt and presses their bodies together, steady and insistent as his teeth sink into the tongue invading his mouth. The pain he inflicts earns him blunt nails digging into his side, and he laughs into the kiss.

The hand falls out of his hair, and he whines in complaint, but it matches the other on his hip,and then both slide down to his thighs and - well, it had been hard to tell if Nasch was as strong as he once had been until this point. Now Vector’s legs are wrapped eagerly around his waist, hands supporting him and groping his ass in one go.

They break apart only long enough for Nasch to ask a one-word question - “Bedroom?” and for Vector to gesture, then it’s back to teeth and tongue and hot breath.

His body thrums with something undefinable and familiar and he is delighted. Digs his claws into Nasch’s shoulders, doesn’t complain about how much care he takes lying Vector down onto the futon.

“Show me how much you want me, then,” he goads instead, and Nasch barely grunts in response. He presses his thumb into the yellow-green splotch of a bruise on Vector’s chest, and Vector bites down on his own bottom lip in delight.

Nasch gets to work mirroring the last hickey, sucking and licking and biting as Vector arches his spine happily. Perhaps laughing isn’t quite the reaction a person ought to have to a shark latching on and digging into your flesh, but Nasch is starting to make his way up Vector’s throat towards his jaw, and for that moment, it’s delicious and perfect and Vector couldn’t ask for more. But Nasch is hesitating; won’t move his hands to do anything more with Vector, to touch him properly, and it grinds his teeth.

Asking would be admitting just how desperate he is, though, so he won’t. He’s already naked. Nasch will get to it.

But he doesn’t, just plants his hands either side of Vector’s head and mouths at his jaw.

Vector’s irritation shows unintentionally in a click of the tongue.

“What do you want?” Nasch asks, voice low, and his breath against Vector’s ear makes him shiver.

“Quit being a hesitant dick and touch me already,” he snaps back, and Nasch’s quiet laugh tugs furiously at him until he’s distracted by a rough, broad hand grabbing at his chest, squeezing roughly and pinching a high, jagged gasp out of his throat. He can feel the smile pressed against his jugular, the promise of teeth at his near-whimper of a response to that hand dragging down his torso, fingers dipping along the curve of his hipbone and stopping where stomach meets thigh.

He traces little circles on Vector’s soft, human skin, and Vector wants to tear him apart.

He doesn’t - he pushes his own hands, sharp and thin-fingered and clever, up and under the hem of Nasch’s t-shirt, and, when he’s not stopped, up further to unzip his binder. He’s rewarded with a shuddering exhale against his throat, two quick encouraging nips against his oesophagus.

Nasch’s nipples, it turns out, are delectably sensitive, and a little play has Nasch trembling above him, propping himself up only on his elbow now, the hand on Vector’s hip flexing and grasping. He shuffles a little from where he is below the other boy, lifts his head as he pushes the shirt up and out of the way. As his teeth sink into soft flesh, Nasch moans, a pretty, sweet sound, and as his tongue flicks wetly his knees shake and give way, half-collapsing on top of Vector.

If he catches the hint of his own name in that moan, he doesn’t point it out; chooses instead to just spread his legs to let Nasch drop closer to him, suggestive and inviting.

He bites down hard and Nasch yelps, but lapping at the dents left behind has it turning into a low, needy groan in no time. He forces himself back up - perhaps partially to get away from Vector’s cruel teeth - and kisses him again, effectively occupying his mouth before he can say anything. An excellent tactical manoeuvre, if Vector didn’t have two hands still perfectly available to him. He scrapes nails down Nasch’s side with a giggle that clacks their teeth together. His thumb flicks insistently over the spit-wet nipple, and Nasch’s hips roll against his.

Vector reflects the motion, and it’s only at this point, he thinks, that Nasch realises quite how dressed he is in comparison to Vector’s nudity. He sits up, pulling away from Vector’s hands and mouth, and Vector makes a show of pouting as he shrugs off his overshirt, wriggling out of his open binder without removing the t-shirt.

Vector can understand. He doesn’t begrudge Nasch that.

There is a perfect line of bare skin between the waistband of his jeans and where his shirt has ridden up, though. Vector wants to bite it, and it must show on his face, or maybe the way he licks his lips, because Nasch’s mouth is shoved back against his immediately.

Nasch’s hands are on his stomach and on his thigh. His knees push Vector’s legs apart and his fingers catch on the corner of Vector’s hip as they trail downwards. And downwards. His mouth is sharp and sweet and tastes of Vector’s toothpaste, and his fingers--

Vector shoves Nasch away with force that tears the breath from his own lungs.

Nasch is halfway across the room and Vector can’t breathe because he’s on the throne again and there’s something impossibly long and made of darkness slithering down his throat and it didn’t even touch him in that way, it doesn’t make sense for him to react like that but even though he can see the soft fabric of his futon and the bright light bouncing gently off the tatami right in front of his eyes, he’s there again.

And then it passes and he feels foolish and a little cold for his nakedness. And Nasch is staring at him and he hates himself for this. At that time, there hadn’t even been anything there for the throne to violate, and at the time he and Don Thousand had both been lying enough to insist on consent for almost anything - so it’s silly and pointless to react like that, he tells himself. He would have been into it anyway, if something like that had happened.

His knees are drawn to his chest, hands covering himself. That’s silly, too. Nasch has already seen him, and he doesn’t care anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Nasch’s voice is a little hoarse. Vector forces a laugh. It comes out short and bitter.

“I didn’t know that would happen,” he shrugs, unfolding a little. He wants this to be casual. He needs this to not matter. “I’ve shoved plenty up there myself, you know? So I didn’t exactly expect that.”

That makes Nasch blush, which makes Vector grin. Much better; the upper hand again.

“I guess the old Don had more of a lasting effect on me than I thought,” he says, crawling across the futon to wind his hands into Nasch’s t-shirt, pulling their faces close. There’s something a little bit desperate writhing in his chest. Nasch’s mouth opens and then closes, as if he wanted to ask something and then thought better of it. Vector kisses him again.

It’s different this time. Not softer or slower, but different somehow. Nasch’s hands rest on the small of Vector’s back and the back of his neck, and there’s something implacably familiar about it.

He pushes Nasch backwards, and Nasch lets him climb on top of him. His hands go no lower than Vector’s hips. That’s fine for now. Vector has no desire to try that again tonight.

He licks at Nasch’s mouth, at his jaw, at the base of his throat. No teeth this time, just tongue and lips, and hands fumbling with the buckle of a belt.

“I want to keep my underwear on,” Nasch says, and Vector shrugs again in agreement as they work to wriggle him out of his jeans. He’s just grateful he wasn’t told he ‘doesn’t have to’ or some shit. If he doesn’t do something at least he’ll only dwell on the nasty shit, and no one wants that.

The bright blue ‘bite me’ boxers are damp. Vector takes a moment to follow instructions, first, clamping down hard, biting that tempting flash of hip he’d wanted earlier. Nasch’s hips buck, and his hands bury into Vector’s hair, but he doesn’t push him away even as he hisses in pain. When his jaw loosens, he tastes copper, and that’s perfect. Hands in his hair guide him down, and he noses against Nasch’s crotch eagerly.

“You smell like you’ll taste good,” he tells Nasch, and gets a groan, and gets pushed more forcefully against him. “But you know, if I go ahead and get to work like this, your undies’ll be all gross and wet after I’m done.”

Another groan, this one exasperated. One of the hands in his hair lets go, moves to push the boxers aside, giving Vector access without having to take them off.

He grins up at Nasch, wanting to convey his delight, but he’s looking away, eyes fixed on the ceiling, blushing darkly. It won’t be hard to get his attention, though.

Vector’s tongue is delicate, a weapon requiring finesse and precision; he traces a wet line along Nasch, opening him up and tasting him - he was right; he’s delicious - draws a figure-of-eight around his clit and delights in the shudder that sends through the other boy. Nasch’s fingers curl painfully in his hair and it’s perfect, and fuck being neat and precise, actually. He wants to make a mess, and make a mess of Nasch in the process, so he does.

Nasch’s hand is tight in his hair, and his thighs shake and squeeze uncomfortably. Vectors tongue curls cruelly and he does what he can to stem the uncontrollable laughter that isn’t so bad when they’re just making out, but rather gets in the way when he’s trying to eat Nasch out spectacularly enough to live up to all the buildup they’ve had.

From the curl of Nasch’s spine and the gasping, wanting moans, Vector rather thinks he’s doing exactly as good a job as all the popsicles and smoke rings and sticky fruits promised.

“I’m- I-” Nasch manages to stammer, and Vector grins up at him. His face is slick with Nasch from nose to chin. Nasch looks terribly pretty blushing like this, he thinks. “Inside,” Nasch whispers, quiet voice loud in this tiny apartment. “Please, I need-”

He doesn’t have to say any more. He hadn’t really needed to say more than ‘inside’, but hearing Nasch beg for him - the same Nasch as ever, begging for Vector - is the greatest victory he could ever have hoped for.

It takes one finger, curling just right, and his tongue right back where it had been, and Nasch is clutching at the futon and shouting, voice pitching high with just the hint of his most hated enemy’s name, and coming on Vector’s face.

Before Vector can make some sort of triumphant comment, Nasch grabs him by the face and drags him up and kisses him and this one is different again - there’s no teeth or violence, just a deep, breathless kiss that’s almost more to keep him close than to shut him up.

Worse: Vector finds himself sort of melting into it.

Then they’re apart again and Nasch is making a face at the taste of his own come.

The wrinkle in the bridge of his nose is equal parts endearing and infuriating. Vector is fine with this.

“You wanna wash up while I get drinks?” he suggests, and he even manages to make the kind offer a little mocking, he thinks, pleased with himself.

Nasch nods and stomps off on still-wobbly legs, and Vector finds himself some clean underwear and steals Nasch’s awful purple overshirt, doing up a couple of buttons to put the kettle on.

By the time Nasch is done in the bathroom, two mismatched mugs of green tea are steaming on the counter, honey jar open beside them.

“The sweet one is mine, but you’ll have to figure out which is which yourself,” Vector grins wide, as if this is some cruel trick, rather than a potential mis-taste, and sails past the only slightly gobsmacked Barian Emperor to go piss and wash his face.

He looks good in purple, somehow. He scowls into the mirror, but it’s half-hearted. He’s happier than he’s been in a long while, actually, which is sticky and human and a little disgusting, especially since he didn’t even get off. But he is happy, and he has no desire to waste that feeling.

He hums tunelessly as he re-enters his living room, joining Nasch under the kotatsu. The other boy is swiping through something on his d-gazer and says nothing when Vector slips in beside him, just leans against him a little, not even looking up. Vector pouts a little at the lack of acknowledgement for the excellent job he just did, and sips his tea.

It’s bitter, and when he makes a face, Nasch laughs.

“You-”

“I like it sweet, too,” Nasch shrugs, smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

“I hate you,” Vector says, but he’s smiling too as he steals the mug Nasch is holding instead.

They watch a variety show starring some vaguely familiar pro duelists, and an obnoxiously heterosexual drama, and when Vector goes to bed, he lends Nasch some pyjama pants instead of kicking him out. Curling up together shouldn’t be nice and certainly shouldn’t be familiar, but it’s both, and Vector rolls over to be little spoon. If Nasch plants a gentle kiss against his hairline, neither of them say anything about it.

Anything else can be figured out in the morning, or when it comes up. Certainly after Vector has shown off his collection of vibrators and come at least three times.

That night, Vector doesn’t dream of anything.


End file.
